Red Cape
by Another Icarus
Summary: He'd- he'd -hurt- someone. Just someone who was in the wrong place, wrong time. Not a villain, just someone nearby while they defended the city.  Tim/Kon


_Luthor. Luthor, failure, not _Clark_, you monster, alien, useless clone. You'll never be a hero, never be _good_._

The thoughts bombarded him, wouldn't let him lay back down and go back to sleep curled around the slight body beside him. The cooler body, that was like relief on his skin - like slipping into a pool on a warm day and feeling the water form around him.

Right now, he craved Tim's cooler, human body, but it was also the worst reminder of earlier. Of the accusations from the very people they'd saved.

He'd- he'd -_hurt-_ someone. Just someone who was in the wrong place, wrong time. Not a villain, just someone nearby while they defended the city.

Stupid. Villain. Horrible. Violent.

He gritted his teeth and felt his hands clench on his knees.

Kon was sitting on the edge of the small twin bed they somehow managed to share, feet planted on the floor firmly. There was no light in the room except for the red glare of Tim's alarm clock proclaiming that it was some twenty minutes after two in the morning. Which was, of course, more than enough life for a Kryptonian-

Not a Kryptonian, no matter if his name reflected it. He was a -clone- of one, and the gesture was empty if he couldn't hold true to the same values that Clark and Kara stuck to. He was just-

The sheets beside him rustled, the cooler body pressing closer against him, curling around the dip he created in the mattress. He looked down when Tim groaned softly, eyes squeezing shut before opening.

"Kon? What're you doing up at this time of night?" His voice was thick with sleep, but the sight of Tim's blue eyes was more than welcome. Kon felt his shoulders slump in something close to relief.

"I- go back to sleep, Tim. 'S nothing." Kon shook his head, reaching a hand - easing it off his knee took actually effort and was he really exerting that much pressure? - and stroking heavy fingers through Tim's hair.

"No. Not- are you thinking about today?" Tim's voice - Red Robin, a boy who had figured out Gotham's mystery at a young age and god, how was he dating someone so amazing? So smart and right and -true-? - firmed, shaking the sleep off of him in a way that Kon was convinced only a Bat could do.

"I hurt someone today. Just a bystander and I hurt them."

"Accidents happen, Kon." Tim reached up, fingertips grazing his jawline.

"Accidents don't happen to _Superman_, though." Kon states, frowning. Despite himself, he turns his head into Tim's touch though, closing his eyes. Feeling some small give in the vise-grip the guilt has on him right now.

"Sure they do." Tim frowns.

"Lex Luthor hurts people."

"Accidents happen, Kon." Tim repeats. "Look at me," he orders, voice firm in that leader-voice that leaves Kon no other option. Not like Kon's ever wanted a second option when Tim sounds like -that-. "Why's it bothering you so much? We got the woman to the hospital, the doctor _said_-"

"Because I -hurt- someone, Tim. It's not the first time, it won't be the last time and I'm just some useless clone. I'm not Superman, I'm never going to -be- -"

His voice died in his throat when Tim's hand, which had withdrawn, lifted their blanket up onto his shoulders, leaving Tim's chest bare. Tim had shifted closer, rolled on his back, and his deft hands gathered the two top corners of the blanket, tying them together around his neck.

"There."

Kon frowned, and lifted a hand to touch the knot at the base of his throat. Tim slapped his hand away, a light touch that was more playful than scolding.

"Tim, what're you doing? What-"

"Mirror." Tim seemed amused that it wasn't immeadiately clear, rolling back on his side to curl back around him, hand touching Kon's leg.

Kon lifted his eyes to the mirror across the room - vision skating over his discarded clothes that made a trail from the door to the bed, while Tim's uniform was folded neatly on the desk chair. And suddenly, it hit him what Tim had done with their comforter - a warm red colour that was faded with too many washing. It hung off his shoulders like a thicker cape, and draped down over the edge of the bed and curled over Tim's hips.

It looked almost protective in the sense it was meant, and while the effect was comical - a cape over a lack of clothes, in the middle of the night? - the meaning didn't go amiss. Kon managed a small smile, looking back at Tim, who was smiling back up at him.

"You'll always be good enough, Kon. You're wonderful. And even if the world's too dumb to see it, and you're too blind, you're -my- Superman, Clone-boy." The words had apparently slipped out of Tim's mouth, since a moment later, the smaller boy looked almost flushed with embarassment, but the sincerity was still there.

Kon managed a smile, and leaned down, bracing his weight on one arm. He captured Tim's lips in a soft kiss, before pulling away. "Thanks, Tim. That- thanks." He summed up and Tim laughed in appreciation for it.

"I mean it. Now, come on, lay down and get some sleep."

"Right, right." Kon shook his head, clumsily undoing the knot in his cape - childishly, for a minute, wanting to keep it on and wrap Tim up in his 'cape' - and laid down as Tim scotted up against the wall to give him room. Kon followed resolutely, and decided that wrapping Tim up in his arms was a better alternative than a blanket-cape, anyway.

"Goodnight, Superboy." Tim murmured into his shoulder, and Kon kissed the top of his head.

"Goodnight, Rob."


End file.
